How He Really Feels
by cranberieee
Summary: Because it's just been years... (( RuPruuu, first story EVER on ; PLEASE BE NICE HEHE oh and I suck at summaries ))


How He Really Feels

Nobody really knows as to why Prussia has this deep seeded hatred for Russia but they don't seem to question to why. After all, loathing every single thing about the Ruski seems like an easy thing to do because of their past and such. However, what should be an interesting take on this is how the Russian feels about this *awesome* German and how he's taking the indirect assaults towards him.

Russia sighed. It was but another G8 meeting and this time it's about the current global recession and plans for economic relief. Plus, they're going to be discussing some itinerary concerning the Next 11. Ivan Braginski did not give a single toxic drop of vodka care though. All that was clouding his mind right now were the stray thoughts about a certain silverette German who's more or less bounding around the outer halls of the conference room. The meeting was in Germany to his dismay and somewhat relief.

He hasn't seen his beloved comrade, Gilbert Beilschimdt, ever since the fall of the Berlin Wall. And as to much as he doesn't want to admit it, Ivan missed the loud-mouthed albino terribly. Gilbert brought about a particular flare in his life that was to say… unprecedented but most welcomed. Ivan couldn't help but smile, as in really smile, to himself whilst drifting down memory lane. He didn't even realize the awkward look that his seatmate was giving him until he got poked.

"Da?" He turned to look at France who was normally part of the extreme ruckus during this things; Ivan making sure to pull on his best everyday smile for the country.

The Frenchman replied with the slight quirk of the eyebrow and obvious shrug. France then returned his attention to England amidst bickering with America. Next to the blue eyed rowdy blond, a somewhat ghostly presence. Germany, the host, was giving off an annoyed aura while a bubbling Italian constantly spoke and poked him. Japan seemed quite troubled and pleaded quietly for the others to settle down before Germany lashes out.

Ivan really couldn't wait for this to be all over. He played it out in his mind; the Russian would follow France for a while after the meeting because he's sure that the blond would visit his friend before leaving. Then when Francis leaves to go home, he'll casually walk up the Prussian and ask him out for lunch, Gilbert never could resist free food, he was giddy at the thought of him and his Zaichik having a meal together once again.

Before he knew it, Germany had laid out the economic status graphs; spurted out some plans, the other countries pitched in some ideas here and there then the meeting was adjourned. Ivan was already smiling but he swore that his lips stretched further as Francis walked out of the room first, all he had to do now was follow and he's sure to see his Gilbie. He silently followed Francis out after politely bidding goodbye to the others.

France seemed to know where he was going. It was as if he himself lived in the spacious German home. Ivan felt a pang of jealousy since he's banned from ever visiting by decree of Ludwig Beilschimdt, Germany himself. He was then baffled to see that the flirty broad headed to a back exit wherein he finds the most beautiful blue flowers he's ever seen.

Russia knew this colour, he'd seen it before. He's been embraced in this blue before- Prussian blue. Russia's eyes widened at the sight of a well-kept field of cornflowers; cornflowers were Gilbert's flowers. He smiled and picked one up, the silverette would certainly like the gesture of him giving one. A throb in his head told him not to be in this place though. That Ivan shouldn't kneel down and pluck a flower from the ground. That this place meant something significant…He isn't sure whether it's a good thing or bad thing though.

"You're finally visiting him, mon ami?"

The Frenchman spoke up from nowhere. Russia looked at Francis and for reason, his imagine was playing a trick on him. He saw some holographic scene; instead of the bright blue day, it was raining hard, and France wasn't in his fancy blue suede but a black suit looking dismayed and a crying Spain clinging to his shoulder. What was this? What does this mean?

_Snap. Snap._

France was snapping his fingers to bring him back to reality. Russia gave the blond a confused look who in turn simply sighed. "You could have at least visited earlier, I'm sure Ludwig would let you waltz in here if you told him that it was to visit Gil." The blond slowly walked down further onto the field, disappearing from perspective because of the slope, Russia followed him hesitantly as incoherent shouting and weeping invaded his ears coming from nothing.

The voices were getting unbearable as he goes down the slope and sees France talking to a tree? It was a tall and strong looking one though not so bulky. Russia hesitates more and more for every step he takes, inching closer and closer to the tree and the Frenchman. Then it hit him.

The tree.

The field of flowers.

The voices.

He was going crazy.

"Hello Zaichik, I missed you." Russia looked down at the Iron Cross tombstone by the roots of the tree. France proceeded to clean up the surroundings as much as possible so that the grave won't be entirely consumed by nature. Germany rarely went to clean it, it was still to hard for him.

Russia leans down and pats the ground affectionately. Now, how does he really feel for Gilbert Beilschimdt? Why does he want to be with the dead man so much? He recalls the funeral.

November 9, a few years after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Red eyes wouldn't rouse from sleep in a luxurious German mansion, the bearer of those eyes had died without knowing what Ivan really felt. Now- how he really feels, his heart to be more exact is six feet underground.

FIN.


End file.
